


The Hairpin, the Spy, and the Wardrobe

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Invasion of Privacy, Marianne is a gay disaster., Masturbation, Voyeurism, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: All Marianne wanted to do was return a hairpin.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70
Collections: Marihilda NSFW Week!





	The Hairpin, the Spy, and the Wardrobe

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Here's my first work for MariHilda NSFW week, for the day 1 prompt: Voyeurism. Enjoy!

Marianne gathers her skirts up away from her feet as she hurries through the halls of the Goneril estate. She hopes, desperately, that Hilda isn’t too terribly upset with her, but worries that it might just be too late. She grips the hairpin in her hand a little bit tighter and groans in frustration at her own air-headedness.

It’s just mistake after mistake and, at this point, she’s surprised Hilda isn’t annoyed by her antics. Not only had she forgotten to bring  _ any _ hairpins from home when she came to visit, but she forgot to return the one Hilda lent her when they went out riding yesterday.

What  _ really _ drives Marianne to madness, though, is that despite her frequent mistakes, missteps, and faux-pas, rarely is she so forgetful. Rarely is she so  _ scatterbrained _ . Clumsy? Sure. Weak? Yes, certainly. But she’s usually able to make up for these flaws to  _ some _ degree with her attentiveness. It’s one of her few redeeming qualities—or so she’s always thought—but something about Hilda being present always manages to fluster her in the worst way.

She gets tongue tied, she’s more easily embarrassed, and of course, she’s absentminded. She wishes she could just not be like this, but, well, she wishes for a lot of things, and that rarely gets her anywhere positive.

And yet, despite it all, there’s nowhere she’d rather be than by Hilda’s side. Even as she draws up to her friend’s door, a smile finds its way to her lips and a bit of her nervousness melts away. Hilda’s so sweet to her, and so gentle, and so affectionate, too; she doesn’t think anyone has ever been so insistent on giving her hugs or pecks on the cheek at every available opportunity. What’s more, Hilda doesn’t act like that with  _ all _ of her friends, only Marianne. Only  _ her _ ! She feels giddy just thinking about it. Why, perhaps if she’s brave enough, she might manage to return those gestures someday. Indeed, the idea of pressing her lips to the soft skin of Hilda's cheek is enough to make her stomach flutter.

But she chases those thoughts away. Right now, the thing she’s hoping for the most is that Hilda is  _ forgiving _ . She looks at the hairpin one last time, as though to reassure herself that she hasn’t dropped it. Marianne takes a deep breath, raises her hand, and knocks on the door.

“Hilda?” she calls, as her knuckles strike the wood once, delicately. “I have your hairpin, I’m so sorry, I…” she begins, but she trails off as the door simply swings wide at her touch. It wasn’t closed all the way, it seems, and Marianne’s knocking was enough to push it open again.

Marianne peers into the room, looking around the grand, spacious chamber, and finds that Hilda, surprisingly, seems to be out. More often than not, when she has no engagements or commitments, Hilda seems to enjoy spending her time relaxing in bed, but the plush four-poster across the room is decidedly empty. How strange.

Still, Marianne sees an opportunity here. If Hilda is out, then it would be a simple matter to place the hairpin among the rest of Hilda’s jewelry, never remark upon it, and simply let Hilda believe that Marianne gave it back to her yesterday, when she should have. Hilda can be a little forgetful too, sometimes, and  _ really _ , what would be the harm in letting her believe that Marianne had never wronged her?

She slips inside Hilda’s bedroom, closing the door behind her so that she isn’t spied by any nosy house-servants, and goes to the small vanity near the window where Hilda keeps her accessories. It’s a simple matter to find a good place to put the hairpin among the mess of trinkets that litter the surface, and she turns to leave, her task completed.

Except…

Marianne looks around, her face reddening. She knows it’s not proper to enter someone’s private space without their permission, but she can’t help but feel a little thrill at the idea that she’s in  _ Hilda’s room _ . She’d visited Hilda when they were students at the monastery, of course, but that had merely been a sparsely decorated dormitory.  _ This _ room is Hilda’s own personal space. It’s kept and maintained to exactly Hilda’s tastes, it looks like she wants it to look, feels like she wants it to feel, it even  _ smells _ like her.

She sighs happily, putting a hand on Hilda’s rumpled bedlinens. Is it wrong for her to be here? Perhaps. But it makes her heart pound with excitement to know that she’s standing in the same place that her very best friend spends her most private moments.

Her hands tremble as she feels the linens and realizes that this is where Hilda lays down in her nightclothes. She wonders what sort Hilda wears. Does she prefer a long, pretty nightgown? Does she like a shirt and soft trousers, like Marianne does? Does she…perhaps…sleep in merely her undergarments? Marianne feels her face go hot. Or perhaps even…nothing at all?

Her lascivious and improper thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a rattling doorknob, and she clamps her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming in fright. Hilda must have returned!

Marianne begins to panic. If Hilda opens the door and sees Marianne standing over her bed like some manner of lecher, that will  _ surely _ be the end of their friendship. She’ll throw Marianne out of the estate, and probably never speak to her again, and Marianne’s heart breaks a little as she considers losing her best friend over her own foolish inability to keep from prying.

She scans the room for a potential way out, but there’s nothing. The window is closed and locked, the only door out is the one Hilda’s currently in front of, there’s no room under the bed…

“Ugh,  _ fuck _ , I keep telling the maids to leave the door open, it gets  _ stuck _ ,” Hilda complains from the other side, and Marianne’s heart beats faster just as she spies a wardrobe in one corner. It’s tall and wide enough that she should be able to fit inside, and if Hilda’s coming in from out in the hall, she’s probably already  _ dressed _ , so she won’t need to get inside.

Marianne decides that’s her best bet, and hurries over to the wardrobe, opening the front, jumping inside, and closing it behind her,  _ just _ as she hears the latch click on the door to the bedroom and it swings open.

“Goddess, finally,” Hilda says, as she walks in and closes the door behind her. “I can’t believe that’s not fixed yet.”

The doors to the wardrobe are  _ mostly _ closed, but there’s just enough of a gap between them that Marianne can see into the bedroom. That’s good. She just needs to wait for Hilda to get what she came for, leave the room, wait another five-count or so, and then follow after. Simple. She feels relief wash over her. She might actually get away with this.

Hilda’s looking as pretty as always, today. Her lovely pink hair up in a high ponytail, her shirt showing…well, really a fairly indecent amount of her chest, really, but Marianne is in no place to complain, and her skirts and stockings are perfectly arranged. There’s something oddly exciting about being able to watch Hilda like this without Hilda knowing she’s here, but she tries once more to push such sinful thoughts away. Hilda’s her  _ friend _ . She shouldn’t be thinking of her in such a way.

And yet…her hand finds its way to the front of her own skirts, pressing in lightly between her legs. She’s touched herself to thoughts of Hilda before, if she’s being honest, and while this is certainly the most brazen she’s ever been, it’s hard to help herself. Marianne pulls the fabric up, slowly, delicately, so as to avoid making even the slightest rustling noise.

She watches Hilda cross the room to her vanity. Had she forgotten some accessory or another? That would make sense. She’s very particular about her outfits. Hilda rustles around and Marianne can hear the sounds of the small metal trinkets tumbling over one another as she searches.

“Huh. That’s weird,” Hilda remarks, and Marianne freezes. “I…don’t remember her giving this back to me. Maybe she did? Or…did I give her a different one?”

She’s musing to herself and Marianne bites her lip, wondering if Hilda is going to figure out what she did. It wouldn’t be as bad as Hilda finding her in here, but it wouldn’t be good, either.

“…whatever,” Hilda eventually says, but Marianne can see she’s still holding the pin in one hand, looking it over. And then, in a gesture that shocks Marianne so badly she almost falls out of the wardrobe, Hilda brings the end of the hairpin, which is adorned with a blue crystal flower, to her lips and kisses it gently, then smiles to herself.

Why would Hilda do that? It’s not like she’s being friendly for Marianne’s sake. As far as Hilda knows, Marianne is off somewhere else in the estate. It seems, really, like something  _ Marianne _ would do.

Hilda almost puts the hairpin down, but she hesitates, then looks around the room. Marianne holds her breath, hoping  _ desperately _ that Hilda hasn’t noticed something amiss. But then Hilda fidgets slightly, bites her lip, and turns to look out the window.

“Yeah, I have time,” she mutters.

She turns, leaning back against her bed, but still remaining on her feet. Hilda holds the hairpin in her left hand, and her right…it flicks up at the hem of her skirt, revealing all of Hilda’s legs up to her upper thigh. Marianne can see the tops of Hilda’s stockings, and she dares not even breathe as she watches Hilda close her eyes and slip that hand between her legs.

A soft, tremulous noise drifts from Hilda’s lips as her wrist flicks in such a way that makes it perfectly clear what she’s doing. Marianne can feel her blood rush to her head, and it nearly makes her dizzy when she considers that Hilda is touching herself, too. But why? What motivated it? She wonders, but she really can’t say she cares all that much.

Marianne’s hand mirrors Hilda’s. She watches carefully, keeping track of Hilda’s motions, trying to replicate them on her own body as best she can. Hilda rubs herself through her underclothes for only a few moments, before pulling her hand back and slipping it down inside them, so Marianne does the same.

This is so bad, so wrong, so  _ filthy _ . She can’t believe she’s doing this, touching herself as she secretly spies on her best friend doing the same. Marianne has always known herself to be a sinful degenerate, but this merely solidifies that fact. But she doesn’t care about that, either, because she’s realizing that the feelings she holds for Hilda are not those of a friend. She doesn’t merely  _ love _ Hilda, she  _ lusts _ after Hilda. She needs Hilda viscerally, physically, as badly as she needs air or water. So she feels guilty, yes, but she doesn’t stop.

Hilda begins to whine softly as she continues, and she moves the hairpin from her hand to her lips, holding it between them in a way that draws Marianne’s eye and makes her wish she would use those lips for something  _ else _ , instead. With her hand now free, Hilda paws at her own chest, squeezing hard and making yet more incredibly enticing noises.

Marianne does the same, working two fingers in and out of herself furiously, needily, while grabbing at her breast. She thinks about how wonderful it would feel for Hilda to be doing that, for her. She thinks about how lovely it would be to touch Hilda, too, how much she needs and craves that contact. She may never have it, but the memory of what’s happening in front of her is something she will see every time she closes her eyes for the rest of her life.

Hilda’s head falls back slightly, exposing the soft, smooth expanse of her pretty, lovely neck, and Marianne doesn’t know whether she wants to kiss it or bite it, but she needs to do  _ something _ to it, of that fact, she is certain. When Hilda begins to fuck herself harder, Marianne mirrors the motion, imagining Hilda over her, fucking her, kissing her, leaning down so that Marianne can sink her teeth into her shoulder, her neck, her—

“F-fuck,” Hilda cries, the hairpin falling from between her lips and to the floor. “I…I can’t…”

Her moans are like a song to Marianne, the most beautiful song she has ever heard, and she has to bite her lip so hard she tastes blood so that she doesn’t cry out in harmony with it. She’s so close, she’s so, so close, and tears well in her eyes as she tries desperately to hold back.

Not before Hilda. She won’t come before Hilda. She wants to see her friend, flushed and beautiful and strong and so, so desirable, come first. She wants to see that without distraction or obstruction.

Eventually a small, choked whine escapes from between Marianne’s lips, but the sound is lost in the cacophony of Hilda’s frantic cries as she approaches her own peak.

“G-Goddess, I…I…” Hilda gasps. Marianne’s eyes widen. Here it is. Here it comes. Hilda’s about to reach her climax and Marianne gets to see it.

Hilda’s eyes squeeze shut and Marianne can see her whole body tense up. She’s so close too,  _ so _ very close, she just needs to see Hilda do it first. With one final, quick thrust of her hand, her best friend cries out.

“ _ Marianne!” _

It feels like getting kicked in the head by a horse. Marianne gasps in surprise, thrusting harder than she means to as Hilda’s unexpected use of her name drives her over the edge. She comes  _ hard _ , whimpering, her legs going weak, moisture slicking her thighs and soaking her smallclothes, and there’s a moment where Marianne feels so dizzy that she thinks she might pass out.

Fortunately, she doesn’t.  _ Unfortunately _ , the wobbliness of her legs is enough to cause her to fall forward and crash through the not-quite-shut doors of the wardrobe. She hits the rug in front of her hard enough to daze her momentarily, as well. Her skirts are up around her waist, and slightly damp, and the position of her hand is enough to give away  _ exactly _ what she’s done.

Hilda  _ shrieks _ , and Marianne looks up, still disoriented, to see Hilda standing next to her bed, hand over her heart, her own smallclothes to her knees, her face more pink than her hair.

There’s a moment of silence as the two of them look at each other, and both women catch their breath. This is it, Marianne realizes. There’s no coming back from this. She certainly enjoyed her friendship with Hilda while it lasted, but after being caught doing what she did, there’s not even the slightest chance Hilda would want a dirty, horrid creep like her around.

Her eyes burn with tears and she tries to heave herself to her feet, though she’s still trembling from the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm she’s ever had. She may as well face her well-deserved reaming with some dignity.

“Hilda, I’m so, so sorry, I—”

“Wow,” Hilda interrupts, sounding legitimately amazed. Marianne raises her eyes from the floor, surprised at the lack of anger in her tone. “I just said your name, and now you’re here. It’s like  _ magic _ .”

For what must be the millionth time that day, Marianne stops cold. Her mouth works soundlessly for a moment as she tries to process what Hilda just said.

“You’re not…mad?” she eventually probes, cautious, testing the waters. “I m-mean…I watched you, uhm…”

A wicked, wolfish smile spreads over Hilda’s face.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

The smile grows wider and wickeder.

“How _ ever _ are you going to make it up to me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading, and thanks to my fabulous editor [tansybells](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells). If you would like to follow me on twitter, find me [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite). Also, check out the rest of the prompts for the week [here](https://twitter.com/marihildansfw/status/1314593432728469513?s=20)!


End file.
